Deus Ex Machina
by ALetteredWoman
Summary: Tag to 11.23. After all these years, God has reappeared. Castiel is furious. And hurt. Then God decides to have a little chat with him...


Castiel watched as Sam fussed over Chuck in the light of a dying sun.

God.

Sam was fussing over God. His Father. Who had disappeared eons ago, leaving His children, the angels, in dismay and disarray.

His Father. Whom he had searched for for half a year, until Joshua had told Dean and Sam that He "didn't feel it was his problem." The Apocalypse. Not His problem.

It had hit him like a gut punch (or what he assumed a gut punch would feel like). Such a betrayal. God, turning His back on his creation, the humans, whom He had claimed He loved above all else. The humans, whom He had commanded Lucifer to love before Him...and when Lucifer wouldn't do it, He had cast Lucifer out, into the Pit.

He remembered feeling so absolutely lost and alone. Their Father, who they had trusted to guide them, had just...shrugged and said, essentially, "not my problem". He had left Dean and Sam in a daze, gone out wandering, eyes looking but not seeing, eyes hearing but not listening, jostled by the crowds of humans in the city he was walking. The humans they were told to love.

He had done that. And for what?

He darted a glance at the small, bearded vessel that was moaning in a chair on the other side of the bar, and quickly glanced away when he met His eyes.

So when he had stumbled into the liquor store, he had thought: Why not? I have no Father. My Father is long gone, and someone strange has taken his place, someone without heart. He had felt the angelic equivalent of his own heart aching beyond bearing, and he knew that when humans felt like that, they often drank liquor. So he had drunk one bottle...then another...then another and another and another. When the liquor store owner, following him around and pleading, then threatening, had become too irritating, he had waved a nonchalant hand, sent him into a deep slumber. And then he had systematically gone through the store and drunk every bottle in it. Halfway through, it had finally started giving him a buzz, and by the time he had finished the lot, he wasn't thinking about Father, about being abandoned, about the callous dismissal of everything that had been important to him.

When the Apocalypse was over, and he was miraculously restored...well. That meant that Father _was_ somewhere out there. And did, in some way, sort of care.

He slid another glance at Chuck. Chuck?! He had stood next to Chuck, supposed Prophet of the Lord, waiting for the archangels to smite them, and felt nothing. _Nothing_. How could that be?! But He had hidden Himself so very well...Michael and Raphael had been convinced He was dead. Why should a mere lower-level soldier of God be able to see what they couldn't?

Then Dean had said something about him - Castiel! - being the new sheriff in town. And suddenly, it all seemed clear: he was resurrected to _do_ something. To show the angels what it was like to live without God's hand guiding them. And when they proved to be...aimless, distressed by the thought...when Raphael had insisted on setting the Apocalypse back into play...

The lies. The schemes. Working with Crowley. Hiding from Dean and Sam. Fiddling with time. Planning and plotting to open Purgatory to get at the souls.

He had begged Father to tell him if he was doing the right thing. _Begged_ Him for a sign, one way or another. And, again, nothing.

His hands clenched into fists on the table before him, and he suddenly felt someone looking at him. When he looked up, his eyes caught...Chuck's...again. They were warm, sad, compassionate. He felt his face harden, and he deliberately looked away, posture stiff and angry.

 _What_ _ **right**_ _has He to look like that? I found a way out._ _ **I**_ _did._ _ **Without**_ _Him._

He could feel the blunt fingernails on his hands digging into his palms, biting in, harder and harder. His thoughts were in turmoil, remembering those days, the crisis of faith, the feeling that he was all alone to struggle to find his way. He stared at his fists, his jaw clenched.

 _I am_ _ **so angry!**_ _And because of that abandonment, we had to muddle along on our own, and Dean took the Mark, and Sam, trying to remove it, released the Darkness...and now Dean is sacrificing himself to kill Amara. Dean - !_

"Castiel."

A shadow fell across his hands, and he looked up. Chuck. He turned his head away again, and realized that they were no longer with the others, but were in a different place entirely, a different bar. Less worn-down. Stylish. Exposed brick walls, a small stage, leather booths. It resonated with His power - a safe house, outside space and time.

Chuck sat down across from him. "Cas."

Cas looked down at the table. "What do you want?" he muttered in a surly tone. "You're dying. You shouldn't have wasted what little time you have left - " He stopped, realizing that even after everything, he was concerned. His hands balled into fists again, angry that the feelings were still there.

Chuck reached across the table, laid His hands on his. With the touch, he was washed with a feeling of love, pride, concern. He yanked his hands away.

"You are one of my best, Castiel. An angel who learned free will. Who made a difference. Why do you think I've brought you back so many times?" Chuck's slightly squeaky voice was gentle.

"For punishment," he said, voice bitter.

"Aw, Jeez, Cas!" He was dimly aware that Chuck was shaking His head. "Really?! _That's_ what you got out of all this?!" He snapped his fingers, and two filled glasses appeared before them. "Naw, man. See, you went off in your own direction - and it was awesome! You were _awesome_! And I realized that even before I made mankind, gave them the gift of free will, there must have been something about this universe that _pushes_...everything - all my creations...towards free will. Because...there you were. Fighting. Striving. Searching. Loving. Trying to do your best. Making mistakes, and learning from them - "

He couldn't help it. His eyes flew up to meet Chuck's. "Mistakes." He laughed, harsh and bitter. "I tried to _become God_! And instead...I unleashed Leviathan."

Chuck chuckled and nodded His head with a wry smile. "Yeah, well. You made some real doozies! But you _learned_ from them! After Lucifer...well. You're my second favorite son." He stopped, and they sat quietly for a few moments. Then Chuck sighed. "We have to go back. Things are moving quickly, and Dean - "

Castiel growled. "Dean. You have led him to his death!" His anger flared up, white hot.

Chuck sighed again, slumping down and giving him a grimace. "Cas. Son. Every mortal dies, sooner or later. That's what being 'mortal' means. You give your heart to a mortal, son, you have to accept that. Love him, be awed by the brilliant flash through the dark that he is, but be ready to let him go, at any time."

The heartache beyond bearing reared up again, and he found tears welling up. He choked out, in a broken tone, "But I don't _want_ to!"

Chuck nodded wisely. "I know, son. I know. And I know it hurts. But still. We need to go back. I just thought..." He looked down at His glass, fiddled with it awkwardly. "Well. I owed you a chance to talk. So...this is it. We go back, Dean takes out Amara, I die, and, well, life goes on."

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, paused, closed it. Chuck wrapped his hands around Castiel's again, and flooded him with His Grace, the warmth and love suffusing him. "I am sorry for putting you through all that," He whispered.

They were back in the dingy roadside bar with the others, no time having passed at all. Sam was bending over Chuck across the room. Castiel was seated at the table by himself. But his fists were no longer clenched, his turmoil was gone, and a peaceful feeling filled him in every dimension of his being. He looked across the room at Chuck, and nodded, giving Him a tiny smile. Chuck nodded back. Sam moved to the bar to get Him some water. When he turned back to take it to Him, the world stood still for a moment.

Then Chuck disappeared. A few minutes later, the sun abruptly returned to normal. Which meant...Dean. Dead. Father. Dead. Castiel's heart broke, and broke, and broke again.

 **A/N: Did you like? Let me know? Please?**

 **And go check out Diane Langley's take on the same subject!** **/s/11968236/1/Hear-You-Me - sorry I can't link directly!**


End file.
